


A Real Party

by pranxtorr



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drunk idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pranxtorr/pseuds/pranxtorr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: The Warden and Leliana get drunk and pin Alistair’s small clothes to the Chantry board.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Real Party

Beds were infinitely more comfortable than a bedroll sprawled out on a mound of dirt in the middle of nowhere.  There were no rocks poking through the layers of furs and sheets, no fear of waking up drenched with rain, and, if she was lucky enough to have her own room, no drunken dwarves eager to become unwelcome bedmates.

But Helena Cousland much preferred the barstool she sat on at the moment, surrounded by the warm atmosphere of happy hour at the Gnawed Noble Tavern.  Laughter soaked all corners of the bar and drinks were flowing endlessly, and she was more than happy to drown in it all.

“You didn’t!” Leliana cried out as their table howled with laughter.

“I did,” Alistair told her, his grin even wider than hers.

“And you just saluted and walked off?” Zevran asked.  “My friend, you are braver than I thought!”

“Hey,” the grey warden pouted.  “I’m plenty brave!”

“Perhaps we should go and wake Morrigan up.  If she only knew what she was missing,” Leliana said.

Helena giggled.  “Do you actually think she’s asleep?  Maybe she’s just plotting what she can do to us once we’re all drunk off our arses!”

“Well she hasn’t got very long to plan, given how tipsy you already are,” Oghren told her.  “You need to learn to hold your ale better, woman.”

“Oh, shove off Oghren.”

The night continued it’s merry mood, eventually leading them to break out some Wicked Grace cards to go with the liquor.  Three games and an absurd amount of drinks later, even the resident dwarven alcoholic was becoming too intoxicated to go on for much longer.

“‘Nother round,” Oghren said gruffly, setting his cards on the table.

“You’re going to drink me into poverty, dwarf,” Helena giggled before handing him yet another small stack of gold.  Oghren stood, wobbled a bit, and then fell flat on his face, resulting in a peal of drunken laughter from all watching.  The ridiculous giggling was only intensified when he let out a loud snore.

“Well,” Zevran said, after things had calmed a bit, “I suppose we should get our drunken dwarf into bed, yes?”  He slung one of Oghren’s arms over his shoulder and hobbled off into another part of the tavern with the unconscious berserker in tow.

Alistair stretched his arms out, face scrunching in a yawn.  “Bed, yes.  Sounds good,” he slurred.  He took a graceless bow, “Goodnight, fair ladies.”

Leliana and Helena giggled as he pecked their hands and then laid a sloppy kiss on Helena’s cheek.  She pushed him away, whining, “You smell like ale!”

“No, it’s you.”

This left the two girls laughing even after Alistair had disappeared into his room.  “I can’t believe he walked out in front of so many people in just his small clothes!” Leliana said.  “I wish I could have seen it.”

“Me too,” Helena purred.  “His smalls are a sight to behold.”

Leliana threw her arms out wide and cried, “All of Thedas should see them!”

Helena’s eyes grew wide and covered her mouth with both hands in excitement.  “Come with me,” she told the redhead, grabbing her by the hand.

* * *

“The revered mother won’t stop glaring at me today,” Alistair said as they passed the Denerim chantry.  “Do I have something on my face?”

“‘Tis remarkable, but perhaps she can smell the idiocy from where she is?” Morrigan offered, receiving a glare from Alistair.

“Maybe it’s the bedhead,” Leliana said while Helena tried, and failed, to suppress her laughter.  Alistair mumbled something about hangovers as he tried to smooth down his hair before raising an eyebrow at his companions, who were trying desperately to look innocent.

The group was interrupted by someone clearing her throat.  “Sister Theohild,” Helena addressed her, gaining some sense of professionalism.  She couldn’t keep the smile off her face for long, though.

“I’m not here for you,” Theohild said, giving her a pointed look.  She turned to the perplexed Grey Warden, “I believe this is yours.”

Alistair’s mouth fell open when he realized she was handing him a pair of his small clothes.  “W- wha-?” he stammered, ears now an impressive shade of red.

“They were pinned to the Chantry board this morning,” Theohild said.  “Do try to take better care of your unmentionables, Ser.”

Alistair gaped at her retreating form before turning to the giggling girls beside him.  “What did you do?” he asked them with a glare.

“It’s your fault that you stitched your name in them!”


End file.
